


Come to me, just in a dream

by leigh57



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2342573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh57/pseuds/leigh57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five headcanons about Daryl and Carol's sex life. Yep, that's it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come to me, just in a dream

**Author's Note:**

> This story was the result of a tumblr ask about my Caryl sex headcanons. As usual, it got out of hand. Ahem.
> 
> The title is taken from "Madness," by Muse.

  * The first time they have a serious makeout session, super late at night, trying to be quiet in Carol’s cell, she comes just from dry-humping. It surprises the shit out of her, but they’ve been feeling each other up forever and he’s kissing her so full and deep, making these tiny satisfied noises in his throat, and he’s so hard between her legs that he catches her in exactly the right place and it’s all over.  
  
She bites her lip, tries not to make noise, but it doesn’t work, and he goes all still, eyes searching her face in the near-darkness. She’s breathing hard, trying but failing to keep it even, and he says, “Did. I mean, did you-?”  
  
She can feel her face turning ten million shades of electric red when she nods, and she can’t look at him. “Sorry. It’s been a while,” she mumbles.  
  
In a split second, she feels his fingers on her chin, gently tilting her head so she has no choice but to look into his eyes. “Don’t say sorry,” he says into the quiet. “That was the hottest thing I’ve seen-” He pauses. Clears his throat. “Ever.”  
  

  * The first couple times they have sex, Daryl’s so gentle that Carol begins to wonder if he’s afraid he might break her. Even when she feels his breathing change, knows he’s getting close because he’s losing the rhythm, he won’t let go, his movements always controlled and measured.  
  
The third time (when she’s still sweaty and flushed from coming with him hard inside her, warm tongue on her neck and his finger circling her nipple), just as she knows he’s getting close, she lifts her hips beneath him and whispers into his ear, “Stop controlling it. You’re not gonna hurt me. You feel _so good_.”  
  
"Fuck," he bites off, hips pushing her into the bed with so much enthusiasm that the mattress moves a little. A few more thrusts (she smiles to herself, because they’re _hard_ this time) and he’s finished, “Jesus,” whispered into her shoulder and then the warm weight of his body relaxing against hers.  
  
But his head snaps up not a second later. “Did I hurt you? Dammit, you talk like that and I can’t-“  
  
She rubs her fingers over the back of his neck. “It didn’t hurt at all.” Pulling him closer so she can kiss him, she adds, “Next time do it harder.”  
  

  * It takes her a month to let him go down on her.   
  
He tries the second time they have sex, but she freezes, shaking her head nervously. “I don’t-” She swallows, fingers squeezing the sheets. “I appreciate the thought. But just … not right now?”  
  
He doesn’t say a word — merely nods and kisses his way up and over her hipbone, lips soft and warm over her stomach and her breasts until they’re back on her mouth and he’s whispering that he’s never gonna do a single thing she doesn’t want him to do.   
  
Ever.  
  
He drops the subject entirely until maybe a month later, when they’ve been petting each other and slowly stripping off clothes for a good twenty minutes, and he says, “I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout how much I wanna taste you. If y’don’t want me to, I’ll never bring it up again. But I thought maybe-“  
  
She’s so turned on she can’t think, willing to do anything to stop the ache. “Try it for a second,” she says, taking breaths between words. “If I don’t like it, I’ll stop you.”  
  
The second his tongue touches her, she knows that not only is she _never_ going to stop him, but this is unquestionably going to be one of her top three favorite ways to come, until the end of time.  
  

  * It’s a while before she tries giving him a blow job. He certainly doesn’t ask, and while she’s not opposed to the idea (at all — she kind of wants to put him in her mouth, to be honest), Ed left her with so much baggage in that department.   
  
(She has vivid memories of crying and gagging, him screaming that she’d better get it done or she’d get another whippin’, the smell of beer and body odor, the way she had to swallow or he’d get even more angry. And even when he wasn’t in his worst moods, apparently she never did it “right,” because when he’d gotten off he’d shove her away with some dickhead comment like, “I thought women talked t’each other about how to do that right. Guess your friends are dumb, too.”)  
  
But one morning, when they’ve been sharing a bed for a couple months, she has an attack of random boldness, and instead of ignoring Daryl’s morning hard-on or fixing it by just climbing all over him, she pulls back the sheet and licks the tip of him. Gently. Twice.  
  
His whole body tenses, and he’s instantly awake. “Y’don’t gotta do that,” he says, voice gravelly with sleep.  
  
"Maybe I want to." She licks again, gratified when he lets out an uncontrolled gasp. "Want me to stop?"  
  
"Fuck, no." He’s already shifting his hips, restless against the bed, but he’s so careful not to hold her head or push himself into her mouth. "Jus’ wanna make sure you don’t think you gotta. ‘Cause you don’t."  
  
"Shhh," she hums against him as she takes him all the way into her mouth, and the vibration alone makes him clutch the sheets in his fists.  
  

  * Daryl’s never considered himself a cuddler. Like, at all. He’s honestly surprised by how much he enjoys the post-sex quiet the first few times with Carol, by how much he doesn’t wish she’d get up and go _away_ , by the way her presence slowly fills up all his satisfied senses — heat of her arm draped over his chest, peaches and cinnamon smell of her hair, taste of her sweat still on his tongue, softness of her breathing as it settles back down, the gorgeous curve of her hip until he loses sight of it under the sheet.  
  
It’s really … nice.  
  
But he still wants to roll over when it’s time to sleep, and Carol doesn’t say a word — just kisses his shoulder and curls into the sheets, not touching him.  
  
And it’s so weird. He thought he wanted his space, to sleep without anyone’s body on his, but the second her hand is gone he sort of wants it back. He falls asleep wondering if he’s just well and truly fucked up.  
  
A couple nights later, after … well. He turns red just thinking it, but there’s no point in denying it was the most amazing sex he’s ever had in his life. Not that the first few times with Carol didn’t rock his world, but something about this time … everything just clicked, and he’s actually still shaking a tiny bit from how good it was.  
  
So is Carol, sweaty and out of breath in his arms. Then she’s giggling all of the sudden, and he asks lazily, “What?”  
  
"God." She takes a deep breath. "What was _that_?”  
  
And then he’s laughing with her, watching her shoulder blades lift, freckles dancing as his chest vibrates underneath her. “I don’t know, but I definitely liked it.”  
  
"Me, too. A _lot_.” She’s quiet for a few minutes, her thumb rubbing an absent circle over his shoulder. Then he feels her tensing, pulling away. “You probably wanna go to sleep.”  
  
It’s pure instinct that makes his arm tighten. He doesn’t _want_ to let go. He wants her to stay there, all tangled up with him, sweaty on his skin, so he can just … hold her. Before he even knows what he’s saying, he blurts out, “Can you go t’sleep like this?”  
  
He can _hear_ her smile when she speaks. “After that? Oh, yeah. But I thought-” She pauses. “I thought you slept better without me touching you.”  
  
He runs his hand over her ass and across the beautiful lines of her back. And then he’s laughing again; he can’t help it. “So did I,” he manages. “Guess I was wrong.”




End file.
